


Under Your Nose

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John, Possible Mpreg, suppressants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s in heat, Sherlock’s an idiot, what could possibly happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Your Nose

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to finishing this.

“I’m sorry sir, but it says your prescription has run out. Would you like to renew it?” The cheerful girl behind the counter asks, looking at John.

John shakes his head. “I’ll do it later, need to get back to work,” John mutters, turning away from the girl and the eyes he is sure are following him.

It’s not until he returns from his quick trip out to grab lunch and his failed attempt to get a refill on his heat suppressors that John comes to his only conclusion: he can’t afford a refill. He’s been through his expenses and what money he has in his account and as of this moment, he living by the skin of his teeth. It’s not much help that Sherlock keeps leaving him behind to pay their cab fees.

And the army’s not going to help him out here, now that he’s out. He could possibly ask Sherlock to borrow some money, but that’s too embarrassing. He needs to cut back on his spending, which means less buying lunch and more making his own lunch.

Stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth, John muses on what else he needs to do. He can go through one heat, not like it will kill him or anything. It’s just easier to not have it in the first place, especially now that he’s living with Sherlock, the poster boy for arrogant, pheromoneal Alpha male. The genius may scoff at the physical side of human nature and call his body “transport”, but he’s still controlled by his body’s demands and John going into heat in front of the man would not be a good idea.

He supposes he could go to one of those free hotels for Omegas in heat. There’s supposed to allow an unbounded Omega some privacy without having every Alpha in a half a mile radius banging down the door.

Sighing, John pops his last suppressant, taking a sip from his bottle of water. With a plan, he can get through this and not have to worry about his finances too much. Now, only to keep the two, overly perceptive Holmes brothers out of his business and his day should be good.

~*~

Even though he’s been on the “pill”, he’s still kept track of his cycles, just in case. So he knows his next heat isn’t for another six weeks, plenty of time to plan ahead. The first week off the pill is odd, his body readjusting to creating the hormones that he was suppressing. He feels jittery for some of the time, like his skin is too tight, but eventually, it wears off and he’s fine.

In fact, he’s more than fine. He’s never been better. John knows that he’s currently on a hormonal high, his body going into overdrive after so long suppressed and that soon, he’ll crash. He’s enjoying it for the moment.

The crash happens while he’s at Baker Street, thankfully. John barely makes it up to his room before he falls into bed, and is dead to the world for the next twelve hours as his body makes a final adjustment to being off the pill. He wakes up refreshed and if he’s a little late to work, Sarah forgives him when he apologizes, giving her a brief explanation.

By now, four weeks have gone by and his heat is getting closer. Of course, a case happens. John should have expected it, but he’s been busy just adjusting to the change that the thought slipped his mind. There have been other cases, but all of them were small and Sherlock hadn’t needed his advice.

When a week goes by with no end in sight, John starts to worry. He can already feel his body starting to adjust again, this time for his heat. It won’t be long before any Alpha close enough will be able to scent his approaching heat.

John stares at Sherlock where he lays sprawled across the sofa, in his “thinking” position. He looks a mess, hair in disarray, bags under his eyes. He’s got three patches on his arm, the limit John has placed on him. The only reason he hasn’t collapsed from low blood sugar is because of all the tea and snacks John has forced down the idiot’s throat.

It’s a relief, when two days later, Sherlock cracks it. Of course, the midnight chase through London after the suspect might not have been the smartest thing John could have done, but he’s made far worse decisions. He invaded Afghanistan for god’s sake!

Still, two days before his heat, he starts avoiding Sherlock and anyone else who might be affected by his pheromones. Sherlock is mostly dead to the world at the moment anyway, sleeping now that the case is over. He’s already taken the week off from work as a precaution since this is his first heat since he started taking suppressants and he has no idea how long it might last. He’s already got a room booked at a local Omega hotel and all he needs to do is pack and leave.

~*~

Morning arrives and with it, a change. John’s close and he needs to leave now or he might not be able to make it. He’s not overly surprised when one of Mycroft’s cars pulls up. Inside, it is empty, the back blocked off from the front so he won’t distract the driver.

Sending off a quick text of thanks to Mycroft and a text to Sherlock saying he’ll be gone for a while and to not worry about him, John turns off his phone.

He’s at the hotel before he knows it and once checked in and in his room, he’s at a loss of what to do next. He’s still got some time before his heat starts. He glances at his watch, twelve hours at the most. Settling onto the bed, John turns on the TV, flipping through the channels to the news.

He must have dozed off because he wakes up sweating. The room temperature is still cool; it’s him that is hot. John forces himself to stand and strip, chucking his soaked underthings into a plastic bag to clean later on.

Bracing himself as a wave of dizziness washes over him, John forces himself to keep going, despite the cramping that has already started in his lower abdomen.

~*~

Sherlock wakes up with a blink and a stretch. The flat is empty, no sign of John, but that’s normal, seeing as how he’s at work at this time. Standing, Sherlock makes his way to the bathroom, ignoring his phone for the moment for once in search of cleanliness.

The bathroom is full of steam by the time he emerges, dressed as usual in his tailored suit. Bending down, he picks up his phone from where John placed it last night. He remembers John getting him to the couch, his scent curling through his nose. He’d buried his face in John’s neck, breathing deeply, but he had been too tired to react to the scent.

Flicking through his messages, he deletes unneeded ones, ignores the missed calls. Glancing at the texts form John and Mycroft, he picks John’s first. I’ll be gone for the week. Don’t worry about me. –JW Frowning, Sherlock flicks to Mycroft’s message. Have seen to John’s safety. He will not be harmed. –MH 

Sherlock’s frown gets even more pronounced. Why would John need to be gone for a week and why would Mycroft care about his safety? Remembering the last few weeks, Sherlock quickly sifts through them for any interactions he had had with John, the most recent being with the end of the case after a chase through London.

It takes Sherlock a moment for the realization to click into place, John’s scent still heavy in the room, curling in his nose and mind. It’s John’s, but it’s changed, heavier, fuller, like something that had been lacking is finally there.

He’s smelled it on other Omegas as they approached their heat. But why is John in heat? He has been on suppressants the whole time he’s lived with Sherlock. Another bit clicks into place as he recalls John packing lunches the last few weeks and his grumbles about low funds. He must not have been able to refill his subscription.

That still didn’t explain why John had left and where he had gone. He could have stayed here and then he wouldn’t have needed Mycroft to protect him. Sherlock could defend the Omega just fine without his annoyance of a brother getting involved.

Frowning, Sherlock walks up to John’s room to try and figure out where John has gone. When he finds him, he’ll tell John that he doesn’t need to leave Baker St. and that he doesn’t mind John being in heat. In fact, it could be a good opportunity to perform some experiments he has wanted to try but has been unable to find a willing Omega.

In John’s room, the scent—pheromones his mind supplies— is more concentrated there. Sherlock breathes deep, committing the smell to memory into his mind palace in John’s own room there. He’ll always recognize the smell now.

There’s not much to a normal person in John’s room, but it is enough for Sherlock. John’s laptop is still in his room and it takes the barest moment to guess the password. Browsing John’s history, he finds a page for an Omega hotel. It’s close by, only ten minutes’ walk.

Smirking, Sherlock heads back down and grabs his coat, tugging it on. He’ll convince John to come back to Baker St. and then he’ll not have to worry about John’s safety again. As if Mycroft could ever provide adequate protection to his Omega.

~*~

Sherlock doesn’t hail a cab, instead walking the distance briskly. It strikes him about halfway there that John might not be alone. It’s not unheard of for an Omega to meet up with an Alpha to have a brief fling though their heat, no strings attached.

Sherlock frowns. That doesn’t sound like something John would do. Why would he go to someone else when he could have just come to ask Sherlock? He knows it’s not a woman that John would be seeing. There hasn’t been anyone recently, Sherlock’s kept tabs. So a man then.

That has Sherlock tensing. Someone else is touching his John. Nostrils flaring, Sherlock picks up his pace, the hotel coming into view. It’s a plain white building, unassuming, but Sherlock can see the protection on the building. Protection designed to keep the Omega pheromones from leaking out and attracting Alphas. They wouldn’t want to create a frenzy.

Growling, Sherlock stalks through the front doors. There’s a woman behind the desk. Sherlock flick his gaze over her: single, Beta, lives alone with three cats, has fondness for chocolate if the amount of acne she has on her face is anything to go by.

Sherlock ignores her words as she tries to stop him. He will not be stopped from reaching John. It’s not hard to follow John’s scent, despite all the other’s clogging the hall. The elevator opens and he steps in. The building is only four floors, not hard to deduce. He hits all the buttons, the door shutting in the woman’s face.

The next floor doesn’t have any of John’s scent so he shut the elevator and rides it up to the next floor. The third floor greets him with more of John’s scent. Stepping out, he follows it easily to a locked door. He can hear soft noises inside.

Frowning, Sherlock pulls out his lock picks. The lock is built to withstand a crazed Alpha, not to be complicated enough to stop someone with lock picks. It gives after a minute and a half and it only takes that long because his hands are shaking slightly.

The door opens silently and the volume of the noises increases. He can hear clearly the moans and cries inside, John’s voice soothing something that had been raging inside him that he hadn’t noticed. He stands there staring as John arches up off of the bed he is on, three fingers buried as deep as they can go inside him.

Sherlock inhales sharply, pulling in John’s sharp scent, something in him responding. John seems to finally notice him standing there, his head turning slowly to stare up at Sherlock with dark, lust filled eyes. “Sherlock,” John pants out, his chest falling and rising rapidly.

“John,” Sherlock growls out. Relief swims through him to see John alone and not with a stranger.

“Sherlock,” John pleads, eyes big and wide, begging him silently, completely gone in his heat.

“John,” Sherlock says softer, shutting the door and stepping closer as he slides his coat off. His suit jacket goes next flung aside with another step. His shirt isn’t so lucky, most of the button flying off into different directions as he yanks in his rush to get it off. His shoes and socks come off, trousers and pants soon following.

John’s soft cries drag him across the room the last few steps until he towers over the bed. “Please,” John says softly, reaching out to try and touch Sherlock. Grabbing his wrist, Sherlock forces the limb down onto the bed.

He grabs John’s other arm, pulling his hand from between his legs with a wet sound and forces it to the bed as well. He kneels between John’s spread thighs, staring down at him. John writhes underneath him, hips jerking up, and small whimpers escaping his throat.

“Mine,” Sherlock growls into John’s ear, leaning down.

“Yes, yes, Sherlock, please,” John begs, straining upwards toward Sherlock. Sherlock growls again and nips the skin on John’s shoulder just above his bullet wound and John cries out.

“Mine,” Sherlock repeats and then he moves over and takes John’s mouth in a harsh kiss, giving the Omega little time to react or catch his breath. Sherlock finally let’s John’s hands go. They immediately wrap around Sherlock, pulling him closer.

“Please, Sherlock, I need…I need,” he can’t seem to get the words out, his breath coming out in short shallow pants.

“I know, John,” Sherlock mumbles, pressing his nose into the junction of John’s neck and shoulder, inhaling John’s scent. Reaching a hand down, he runs a finger along John’s cleft, trailing through lubricant, more dribbling out of John’s arse. “So wet for me John,” Sherlock says softly, voice a rumble in his chest.

John gasps when Sherlock presses two fingers in, the muscle giving easily. “You’re already ready for me, aren’t you John?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes,” John gasps, pressing back against Sherlock’s fingers, hands gripping the sheets with white knuckles. “Sherlock, please!” John whines, pressing up to rub against Sherlock’s leg as well as impaling himself again on the Alpha’s fingers.

Growling again, Sherlock removes his fingers and without any preamble, lines up his cock and presses in, John’s muscles giving easily around him. John lets out a soundless scream, arching up off of the bed, hands scrabbling at Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock pulls back and presses in again, starting a harsh tempo, and John just takes it, begs for it. It’s a surprise to both of them when suddenly John arches up off of the bed, coming with his cock untouched. Groaning, Sherlock presses his forehead to John’s shoulder as the Omega clenches around him.

He can already feel his knot starting to swell, catching on John’s rim as he pulls out and thrusts back in. John’s making these little noises, encouraging Sherlock on, pressing back into the cradle of Sherlock’s hips.

Pulling out suddenly, Sherlock flips John onto his front and pushes back in. John cries out at the new angle and Sherlock just keeps pistoning forward until, with a final, filthy sucking noise, his knot seats itself inside John and locks them together.

Sherlock comes with a groan, filling John up. John cries out, coming again from the feeling of Sherlock inside of him, knot pressing against his prostate. Grunting, Sherlock shifts them to lie on their sides, still plastered to John’s back.

“Sleep,” Sherlock says, softly. John just nods and presses closer to Sherlock as exhaustion takes over. John still has some time before his heat is over. Setting his internal clock to wake him up in a couple of hours, Sherlock pulls John closer and sleeps.

~*~

John’s not sure what day it is exactly when his heat breaks and he finally surfaces from the cloud of hormones and pheromones. Sherlock is a hot brand plastered to his back. John’s bladder is screaming and his skin itches with the evidence of the heat. John shifts to get up and Sherlock is awake, sitting up, his hair a bird’s nest and his skin just as dirty.

“What?” he mutters, still half asleep.

“Just going to the bathroom,” John soothes, pressing Sherlock back down onto the bed. Sherlock goes willingly, sleep already catching him again.

Enclosed in the bathroom, John leans against the door for a moment and breathes through the small amount of panic he’s feels welling up. Shaking himself, John pushes off of the door and goes to turn the shower of the small bathroom on. While it heats up, he relieves himself, still ignoring his thoughts.

He scrubs himself down quickly, relaxing under the heat and feeling any lingering muscle pains going away. Clean, he steps out of the shower and towels off. His spare clothes are in the main room, so he steps out of the bathroom and runs into Sherlock who is staring at him hard.

Sherlock steps in close, hands coming up to skim over his bare skin, nose running down his throat. “You don’t smell like me. Why don’t you smell like me?” Sherlock asks.

“I took a shower you idiot,” John grouses.

“You’re panicking, why are you panicking? Did I do something not good? Did I not do something? John what’s wrong?” Sherlock asks, pressing close.

“Enough Sherlock, I’m fine,” John growls, pushing the Alpha away and stomping over to the dresser to pull out his spare clothes. Sherlock, the idiot, didn’t bring any.

It’s quiet for a few minutes while John gets dressed and then Sherlock say, “Oh!” like he’s just figured out another case. John jerks around, frowning. “No, not oh,” John says, bringing up his finger to point at the Alpha.

“John,” Sherlock says, stepping closer until he’s crowding John up against the dresser, hands gripping his hips to keep him from trying to slip away. “You didn’t take contraception,” Sherlock says matter of factly, looking down at John.

“Don’t,” John mutters, looking away.

“If something comes of this, I won’t be upset if you should choose to terminate,” Sherlock says softly, trying to look John in the eye.

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” John growls, breaking out of Sherlock’s hold and stomping away, his shoulders tense. Sherlock follows him with his eyes, waiting for John to continue. “I don’t…I can’t do this. This was just a one off because you were an idiot. I can’t have a taste only for it to be taken away, Sherlock. I refuse to be that person.”

“And what makes you think that this is a onetime deal?” Sherlock asks neutrally.

“Come on Sherlock,” John yells out, turning around to glare at him. “The first day I met you, you said you were married to your work. You ignore any attempt at someone showing any sort of interest in you. And don’t even get me started on your five minute lecture on how one’s baser instincts shouldn’t even be acknowledged.”

John is breathing heavily as he finishes. Sherlock waits a few moments before striding forward, herding John into the wall behind him. John tries to push him away and he grabs his wrists, forcing them up and pinning them above John’s head.

“Your conclusion is wrong,” Sherlock says evenly, staring down at John. “I may be married to my work, but I am not mated to it. And I ignore other’s interest in me because they do not concern me when I am only interest in one person. And my lecture was about not letting your instincts rule your every move.”

“But you never said anything,” John says, still struggling against Sherlock’s grip.

“You kept bringing female Alphas home as dates. I assumed my advances would be unwanted so I didn’t say anything,” Sherlock says.

“You idiot! I’d rather you had said something. I only dated them because I thought you weren’t interested,” John grouses.

“Perhaps we should start over,” Sherlock suggests, a slow smile spreading across his face. “The name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m John Watson. Would you like to go out sometime?” John asks, grinning.

“I’ve got a better idea. How about we solve crimes together,” Sherlock offers.

“It’s a date then,” John answers, then frowns. “But what about if something should come of this?” John asks, glancing down at his flat abdomen.

“It is your choice to keep any fetus that might result from this. But if you do decide to keep it, I would care for it. After all, it would be the perfect mix of you and me. And I’m sure Mummy would be happy to finally have a grandchild,” Sherlock says with a small smile.

“I guess if it will make her happy,” John says, grinning and leaning up to press a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “You might want to text Mycroft to bring you a set of clothes. Yours are in shreds,” John says against his mouth with a laugh. Sherlock snots and looks at the mess of his clothing on the floor. Sherlock just snorts in amusement, pulling John against his side.

**End.**


End file.
